Grenfield was still lazily reading a book behind the counter. Full beard, worn suit, pince-nez glasses. The air itself seemed to float with faint dust.
But Siles didn’t dare underestimate him.
If the space behind the door at the Historical Society was personally set up by the vice president, then who had set up this bookstore that could similarly only be discovered by Revelators?
“Good morning, Mr. Gren.” Siles said. “I went to the Historical Society yesterday. About…”
“Revelator—is that what you want to say?” Grenfield yawned. “Who’s your guide?”
“…Mr. Carol Houseman.”
“Oh, little Carol. He’s an enthusiastic person, though sometimes a bit too enthusiastic.” Grenfield commented thus. “In any case, he’ll help you properly.”
Those eyes lazily watched Siles: “And why have you come looking for me?”
Siles was silent for a moment, then said: “You gave me that business card. I wanted to thank you.”
Grenfield casually placed the book he was reading on the counter, then scratched his head. This slovenly-looking man said: “Now you know—a Revelator’s power also means danger. Perhaps I gave you this business card with ill intent?”
“The more dangerous the power, the more we should seek ways to control such power.”
Grenfield looked somewhat surprised, with a gaze carrying some complexity, as he watched Siles. After a moment, he asked: “That’s what you think?” Without waiting for Siles to speak again, he said, “You’re an even more arrogant young man than my teacher.”
Siles slowly blinked, somewhat confused.
After showing that momentary complex expression, Grenfield once again resumed his lazy expression. He said: “You also know my teacher—at least you know his name. Joseph Morton.”
Siles nodded.
Grenfield continued: “He and I have some differences in philosophy, so I left the Historical Society and opened this bookstore… Of course, don’t expect me to give you any guidance. Beginners are better off following the Historical Society’s system for learning the basics.”
Siles hesitated, then only asked: “Mr. Gren…”
“Gren.”
“…Alright. Gren, I’d like to ask—don’t Revelator powers have rank distinctions?”
This was the first question Siles thought of after hearing Carol’s preliminary explanation. Perhaps because he was accustomed to leveling-up novels on Earth, he always felt extraordinary powers should also have step-by-step grades and distinctions between strong and weak.
But Carol’s explanation seemed somewhat strange. It appeared that with a potion, a temporal trace, and a reenactment ritual, one could borrow power from the past, no matter how powerful.
Did borrowing power from the past require no cost? Did Revelators have no distinction between strong and weak?
This question from Siles made Grenfield cast him a complex glance. He said: “Beginners shouldn’t be so ambitious. Wouldn’t it be better to obediently listen to little Carol’s explanations? Coming to ask me such stupid questions.”
He seemed to roll his eyes ever so slightly.
Siles froze, instinctively saying: “I’m sorry…”
“No. Don’t say that.” Grenfield seemed to think of something. “When I first started learning from my teacher, I was the same—asking whatever came to mind. Thinking about it now, nearly twenty years have passed.”
Siles maintained silence, not nosily asking what disagreements Grenfield and that Historical Society vice president had.
Grenfield’s sentiment lasted only that instant, then he said: “Potion, temporal trace, ritual. You should be very clear about these three elements. Potions have purity, temporal traces have completeness, and rituals have compatibility.
“Three elements and three dimensions—these are the obstacles you’ll need to overcome and surpass on your future path as a Revelator.”
“…I understand.” Siles answered thus, then said, “What about the Revelator themselves?”
Potion, temporal trace, ritual—except for rituals requiring the Revelator to personally demonstrate and reenact, the first two could be considered external objects. Could it be that Revelators themselves had no… distinction between high and low levels?
Grenfield looked at him strangely: “Normal Revelators, when first learning, are already captivated by magical potions and complex temporal traces. Why are you the only one here obsessing over the essence of power?”
The essence of power…? Siles had a realization.
Indeed, Earth’s way of thinking allowed him to penetrate layers of fog. What he wanted to know was—why did Revelator power exist? Why could Revelators gain power from past history? Did the powers mastered by different Revelators have distinctions in magnitude?
“You’re very perceptive, good scholar material… wait, you said earlier you research Age of Silence literature?”
Siles was silent for a moment, finally saying honestly: “I teach at Lafami University.”
“Teach… wait, you’re a professor at Lafami University?!” Grenfield looked like he was about to jump from his chair. “You really are…”
As an intellectual, university professors were highly respected in this era, especially professors at the Duchy of Constance’s top institution. Grenfield’s dumbstruck appearance made Siles realize for the first time that he might have underestimated his professorial status.
However, Grenfield’s astonishment lasted only a moment. He rarely gave earnest advice: “Since you research past literature, you’ll inevitably come into contact with original manuscripts, first editions, handwritten notes, and such. You must be extremely careful not to easily trigger Revelator power.”
“I will be. Thank you for the reminder.”
Grenfield added: “As for your question… the Revelator themselves. Heh.” He revealed a smile carrying some sarcasm. “If you stay at the Historical Society long enough, you’ll know—there are currently discussions about this within the Society.
“The focus is naturally on the Revelator’s soul. Some believe a Revelator’s soul possesses some special power, attributes… or tags. This affects their ritual results.
“…The initial source of this research was because people developed a doubt.”
Siles asked at the right time: “What doubt?”
“If we can borrow power from the past, then why can’t we borrow power from past gods?”
Siles froze.
Grenfield said meaningfully: “Those fallen deities left quite a few temporal traces. Some Revelators attempted it, and the final result…” He hesitated a moment, finally saying, “Either dead or mad.”
Was it truly so difficult to borrow divine power with human strength? Perhaps many Revelators felt such despair and unwillingness, so they finally turned to researching their own power and foundation.
In the end, they seemed to realize that a Revelator’s soul possessed some wondrous properties.
“This research is still ongoing. After you complete little Carol’s introductory courses, you can try joining those researchers’ ranks. However, this research has always been highly controversial.”
Grenfield showed an expression carrying weariness and vexation.
They were both silent for a moment.
Finally, Grenfield said: “Alright! Don’t be overambitious—first think about how to learn the basics.” He added, “If you have any questions, you can come chat with me.”
Siles thanked him for his kindness.
In the process of dealing with these two Revelators, Carol and Grenfield, Siles realized that this world’s extraordinary power—at least Revelators from the Historical Society—seemed to indeed be of the lawful alignment.
They wouldn’t abuse power, even restraining themselves to some degree, vigilant of the power that could lose control at any moment.
Grenfield waved at him, then continued burying his head in his book. Siles instinctively glanced at the book in his hands, but found it wasn’t some ancient, weighty old tome, but rather a brand new book that seemed freshly published.
“Curious?” Grenfield noticed his gaze. “This is the new work of the city’s famous novelist, Ms. Antonia Carmin! What an absolutely thrilling detective novel!”
Detective novel?
Siles froze, somewhat interested in this era’s novels, but he was even more interested in—could he, as in his previous life, sell written words?
Soon, Siles left the antique bookstore carrying an old work by Antonia Carmin that Grenfield had kindly gifted him.
Grenfield watched his departing figure, recalled their two conversations yesterday and today, and after a moment, sighed with unclear meaning: “You see, teacher, contemporary young people are far more radical and progressive than we imagine.
“They won’t cling to old ways, won’t be content to cycle endlessly on paths we’ve already explored. They will step into the domain of deities, will seek their own paths, will—”
Grenfield stopped for a long while, then muttered to himself: “‘The more dangerous the power, the more we should seek ways to control such power.'”
He laughed without clear meaning.
After a while, he once again buried his head in Antonia Carmin’s detective novel, occasionally exclaiming in wonder at such brilliant tricks and mysteries.
…This world. In one inadvertent moment, Grenfield thought thus. This world was like Antonia Carmin’s novels. This was a fog, this was a world shrouded in history’s haze.
Siles, who left Grenfield Antique Bookstore, soon returned to 13 Milford Street.
He confirmed Mrs. Fenn wasn’t using the kitchen at this time, so he went to the second floor, first placing the book Grenfield had given him aside, then brought the ingredients to the first-floor kitchen.
He cautiously tasted the purchased sauce, confirming it had no strange taste—at most, it was a bit bland.
Then he boiled water in a pot, cooked a pot of hot soup, added the soup base, salt, vegetables, and meat, stewed it for a long time, and when it was finally done, the hot soup with its faint reddish luster looked quite good.
He ladled the hot soup into his bowl, brought it to his second-floor room, then cleaned up the kitchen. The time had also come to about noon, and Mrs. Fenn happened to walk into the kitchen at this moment, planning to cook.
She noticed the kitchen was very clean and tidy, so she rarely praised Siles. Then her expression moved. She hesitated, then told Siles to wait while she turned to fetch a basket of cherries from nearby.
Even in this world, fruit like cherries wasn’t cheap.
Siles was startled, not understanding why Mrs. Fenn would suddenly be so friendly. Mrs. Fenn seemed to want to say something, but finally only said drily: “Please take them and eat, Mr. Noel.”
Between this middle-aged woman’s somewhat haggard brows flashed unease and tension, always on the verge of speaking but holding back.
Siles realized Mrs. Fenn seemed to have a request for someone. From two days ago, she had looked troubled by something, and now this worry seemed to be deepening. Therefore, she showed this ingratiating behavior.
But what trouble had she encountered?
Mrs. Fenn ultimately remained silent, so Siles also didn’t ask unnecessarily. He thanked Mrs. Fenn for her kindness, didn’t take them all, but prudently grabbed a small handful and put them in his pocket.
Then he carried his hot soup upstairs—bread with hotpot—and haphazardly finished this lunch.
Finally eating hot food, his stomach emitted a comfortable, pleasant feeling. Combined with the sweet and sour taste of cherries, this was probably the best meal Siles had eaten since coming to this world.
Siles stood up and looked out the window—it was drizzling light rain again. He couldn’t help sighing. He washed the bowl, then simply walked around the room several times as if taking a walk.
While walking, he pondered matters concerning lesson plans. This afternoon, he immersed himself in lesson preparation, completely ignoring the passage of time.
When he suddenly came to his senses, he found that except for the wall lamp still glowing, the room had already become quite dim.
He hurriedly turned on the overhead light and stood to stretch his limbs. He found his efficiency was good—combining his past notes with some concepts, the lesson plan for “Age of Silence Literature Appreciation” had progressed more than halfway.
Of course, that still differed from the actual course, but time was tight—he had to first determine the first few lessons.
Long immersion in work made Siles somewhat tired. He didn’t want to go out, so he lay on the sofa for a moment.
At this time, he suddenly thought of the book Grenfield had given him, casually picked it up, and began browsing through it.
